


RNR Best Friends

by iamjacksblindrage



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 17:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14675976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamjacksblindrage/pseuds/iamjacksblindrage
Summary: When Sung's life falls apart at the hands of the Haters, he takes off into space to seek out a way to make sure this kind of disaster never has to befall anyone else.  What he doesn't count on are the friends he makes along the way.  There's Havve, the murderous robot he picks up on a strange, primitive planet.  And then there are Meouch and Phobos, a pair of aliens entangled in a tumultuous dispute involving Phobos's whole planet.  When the four manage to finally come together, the beginnings of a funky band with the power to defeat Boredom arise.  But just when they finally settle, the Haters return to Sung's life.  How with the Groove Crusaders save their friendship and their new home?!





	RNR Best Friends

The sky was dusky red, the air oppressively hot, and sizzling phaser blasts flew around his head as Doctor Sung sprinted for safety. He wasn't sure the metallic smell would ever leave him. Tucked under his arm as he ran was his computer, full with years of research, and he’d be damned if he let the followers of Boredom steal it away from him. That’s why he’d gone back out into the midst of the battle, ducking and dodging phasers, finding cover where he could. He had to make it back, just to the bunker, the one his coworkers and friends had taken refuge in, just outside the university’s grounds. A stray phaser blast brushed past his ear and a shout spilled out of Sung’s mouth. He wasn’t hurt, but definitely startled, so he ducked lower and ran faster. He was so very close, he just had to round this last corner, and then he’d be scott free, a mere 50 meters from the bunker door. He skidded around the corner, nearly tumbling over his own feet, but he caught sight of Sharu, his research partner, waiting in the cracked open door of the bunker and looking impatient, and Sung quickened his pace. Sharu’s face lit up at the sight of Sung, and he started to reach for him and -

Taking a phaser blast to the temple, Sung learned, felt like all of your nerve endings catching fire at the same time. Later, he wouldn’t remember hitting the ground, or Sharu’s screams, he wouldn’t remember dropping his computer or the way his right eye went black before his left did. The only memory that would stick with him would be the searing pain that filled his body and then nothingness.

It’s unclear just how much time passes Doctor Sung while he’s unconscious, but he wakes up, and the only thing he knows is that every inch of his body aches and he’s miraculously alive. He shouldn’t be, but he is, and he’s absolutely astounded by it. Something’s beeping nearby and everything around him is heavy concrete, secure as is possible, meaning...he’s still in the bunker? 

Sharu appears in his line of sight, a smile on his face. “Hey there!” he greets, laying a gentle hand on Sung’s shoulder. “How are you feeling, friend? Alright?”

Sung frowns and gives him a little shrug, though he winces at the pain it causes to run down his spine. “Moving hurts,” he grunts, reaching up to rub at his face. He startles when his fingers bump into something solid and smooth. “Wha-?” he questions, trying to shove himself upright. “What’s wrong with me?”

Sharu smiles sadly down at him and pushes him back down onto his back. “I did what I could to save you. Just relax, please. You’re still healing. We can talk later.”

Sung’s frown deepens, shakes his head. “Please, just tell me, what did you do?”

Sharu sighs and rests his hand over Sung’s chest, keeping him still. “I was able to scavenge the memory centers and reconstruct your muscular control centers and upload it into a mechanical bank that can power the rest of your brain and get your body mobile. Your right eye is completely gone, but I was able to replace it with a camera lens and sync it with your other eye so you shouldn’t notice any difference in your sight. You’ll probably be in a fair amount of pain while you heal.”

Sung jerks, his entire face crumpling in pain, both physical and emotional. “You WHAT?!” he shouts, jackknifing upright to grab Sharu by the front of his green tunic. “You made me a cyborg?!”

Sharu falls limp in Sung’s grasp, holding Sung’s wrists weakly. “Please, Sung,” he begs, desperate. Tears well up in his eyes. “I couldn’t just let you die. You have so much to do and see, and I know you didn’t want to leave us this way. I did everything I could to save you.”

Sung falls flat on his back, his whole body spasming in pain at the sensation. He stares up at the heavy, reinforced concrete ceiling as Sharu slips away, burdened down with the shame of his intervention.

Sung slips in and out of consciousness over the next three days. Every inch of his body screams in pain with every single move he makes during his brief periods of awareness, until the day he wakes up and shifting into a better position doesn’t make him want to scream. He rolls himself off the exam bed and stretches, sighing at just how nice it feels to be upright and moving. He scrubs a hand over his face, and his fingers bump the cool metal and gnarled scarring near his temple. It hurts, sends a jolt of pain down his spine. He grunts and shuffles over to the mirror hung over the sink, and the sight of his own face makes his knees give out. Starting just above his right ear and ending about two inches above his left eyebrow is puckered, pink scar tissue, trying to heal around whirring circuitry, exposed and implanted in the remains of his squishy, grey brain matter. He can see the edges of his skull, too, around where his body is struggling not to reject the machinery in his head. The camera replacing his right eye whirs just a bit when he shifts his gaze, but his brain - or the computer replacing his brain, he’s not sure which is powering his vision centers - processes it easily, keeping up as usual.

“I’m a fucking monster,” He breathes, staring at his own disfigurement. How would he be taken seriously by his coworkers now? That’s if the university even let him stay on as a researcher, because the institution didn’t have the greatest track record in regards to its treatment of cyborgs. But they needed him now more than ever...right?

It’s then that Sung realizes he doesn’t even know if the battle is still raging on outside their bunker, if returning to their research is possible for ANY of them. Sung stumbles off, searching for Sharu, curious if his partner would have any answers for him.

The others are gathered in the main room of the bunker, intently focused on various activities, though a few are able to be distracted by the motion of Sung entering the room. He sees Krae-La’s face reflexively crumple at the sight of him - Sung was well aware of her particular mistrust of cyborgs. Sung has to scan the room for a second before he finds Sharu, tucked away in the corner, hunched over his computer with his bloodshot eyes wide and unblinking.

“Shar,” Sung starts quietly, hoping to not startle his partner too badly. “Sharu, hey.” Sharu jerks a little, but sits upright to look questioningly up at Sung. “Why are we still down here? Are the Haters still holding the city?”

Sharu’s face folds a little. “Liorna’s been evacuated. Everyone has either fled the city, holed up like we have, or is dead. They aren’t trying to drive out the Haters - General Marle surrounded the city, and soldiers are sweeping through, and he isn’t going to give the all clear until every last Hater is dead.”

Sung blinks a few times, astounded at that level of violence from their relatively peaceful people. “How many days has it been?”

Sharu frowns and looks down to check the date on his watch. “We’ve been in the bunker for 10 days now.”

\--

It ends up being another six days before Marle’s soldiers come through to clear their bunker, and an additional two after that before they’re allowed to breach the surface and return to their daily life. The researchers are lucky - the corner of the massive campus they live and work in is relatively untouched, and they’re able to get right back to normal. Not all of the students are so lucky - a fair few dormitories and an entire wing of the library are in shambles, torched or bombed by the Haters during the height of the battle. That alone makes Sung furious. To pay for his lodging, he teaches a few classes a year, and a good dozen of his students have to return to their parents because they’ve lost everything. One of his students is found dead in the wreckage of the library. They’re barely more than children. The trauma they’ve faced lights a fire in his chest, and he doubles down on his work with Sharu’s help. They have to find a dimension where their people defeat the Haters to make sure this never happens again.

Cross-dimensional travel is easy on paper. Sung can write equations and algorithms all day long that will get them back and forth without a care in the world. It’s the testing phase that keeps tripping them up. Sharu is damn near a genius at interpreting Sung’s theoretical work and making the mechanisms to put them into practice. But they they start small scale testing on inanimate objects and find they come back burnt or melted or as no more than ash. They don’t move to live subject testing until they work out the kinks, but the moment they do move forward, their subjects start coming back as goop or inside out or missing bits. So they do some more tinkering and solve the issue… until they move onto larger subjects and run into the same damn issues.

It takes nearly 9 months for Sharu and Sung to get their equipment to a point where they feel okay testing it themselves. By this time, FOUR other cities have fallen to the same fate as Liorna. But the day does come and their lab assistant fires up the controls while Sung and Sharu suit up to step into the mechanism. Once they’re ready, Sung shoots their assistant a thumbs up, and the young man hits the switch to send them on their way.

As it turns out, punching through dimensions feels an awful lot like plunging head first into freezing water. It knocks the breath out of Sung’s chest and makes his circuits freeze and jolt, and the moment they touch down, Sung stumbles and vomits on the lush, purple grass. He has a moment of concern when he realizes he’s throwing up blood, but he has work to do, so he just wipes his mouth and hauls a dazed Sharu to his feet. They do some questioning of the locals, Sung recording everything he can, and they end up spending about 2 hours in this dimension before they retreat to an isolated area and hit the return switches on their suits. 

The return trip is so much worse. Sung feels like he’s been dunked in boiling hot tar, his circuits gunking up and stopping, leaving him semi-conscious but unable to move or speak, barely able to breathe. He hits the lab floor, back first, and his body spasms, out of his control. He listens to their assistant screaming for help and he hears medics trying to revive his partner, just feet away, but he can’t do a thing. By the time his hardware is cleaned up and back in running order, Sharu’s body has been hauled away.

Sharu’s funeral is small and quiet, far too somber for the lively mechanical physicist. His students come and go, his colleagues gather in tiny groups. His family never shows. Sung, covered in bruises and barely upright, sits at Sharu’s head. He doesn’t weep, doesn’t say a word to anyone, just stares at his partner, disbelieving that he’s gone. He insists on helping carry the casket, even injured as he is. After all the funeral goes have left and the grave’s been filled, Sung finally lays down in the grass and cries.

It’s weeks before Sung leaves his tiny apartment. His lab gathers dust, he doesn’t touch his computer or his communicator, just grieves all alone. But when he finally starts to revisit his theoretical work, he starts to hear whisperings from other academics. According to them, in the far reaches of a far of galaxy, there is a moon, and one that moon is a Device, powerful enough to power whole planets. Not that anyone’s ever seen it, though. But through a little old fashioned research, Sung thinks he’s figured out just what moon this Device is hidden on. In the end, he drafts his resignation letter to the university, loads up his personal items and all the work he and Sharu did together, and sets his ship on a course for Io. He knows it’s very possible he’ll get to Io and find a fat load of nothing, but he figures he’s got nothing to lose. He gets word three days later that Liorna’s fallen to Boredom. It seems likely the rest of the planet will submit in short order.

It takes him 23 days to reach Io, and after scanning the surface turns up nothing, Sung lands his ship and decides to do a deeper hunt. He figures if something that powerful were on this dusty little moon, his sensors would be able to find it. And so he sets off on foot, a more delicate scanner in hand, to look for any spike in energy readings. It takes him more than six hours before he hits an abnormal spike, outside a mostly hidden opening to what seems to be a cave. He gives himself a moment to snack and rest before he dives right in. He’s not sure how deep he’ll have to go and he wants to be prepared. As it turns out, he only makes it about 50 meters into the cave before his handheld scanner goes wild, and about 75 before the light starts to reach him.

There, 100 meters into the dry, narrow cave, deep underground, sits the Device, glowing and radiating an odd cool heat. Sung spends and indeterminate amount of time starting into its light, transfixed by its power. But he manages to shake himself loose enough to mark its location with his scanner before beating a hasty retreat. All of his testing equipment is on the ship, and so he needs to move the ship closer.

Doctor Sung spends six days in that cave, running test after test, writing up theoretical equations and diagrams, trying to figure out just how to contain and harness the sheer power the Device holds. Then it’s another few days of tinkering, building a mechanism to draw energy from the Device in a controlled manner. There’s some trial and error, but he figures it out and transfers the Device onto his ship, plugging the whole thing into Vangelis’ warp core. By his calculations, it should make dimension jumping easier, by leaps and bounds. 

Sung makes some modifications to Vangelis, to help the poor girl survive jumps, and finally, after a few long weeks, makes his first jump in the ship. Even in the ship, the jump feels awful, and jolts Sung’s processors out of wack. He ends up floating in dead space, laying unconscious on the bridge floor for several hours. When he finally rouses and rolls over onto his side, he groans, his insides roiling in protest. He barely makes it to the biohazard bin tucked in the corner before he barfs - and his chest tightens when he sees he's vomiting blood, yet again. That's not good, not at all. He sighs and hauls himself up to flop down in his sleeping quarters for a while so he can recover a little before exploring the new dimension he's blipped into.

However, two jumps later and he's still knocking his circuits out of wack and his internal organs are screaming in protest and he's not quite sure what to do. It's making his quest a little difficult, because his body is slowly dying under the pressure and his processors are losing efficiency with each jump.

He's floating nearby a planet called Trillopa when he has a frankly terrible idea, and lands Vangelis on the planet's surface. It's a pretty barren, primitive planet, and the natives are pretty centralized in certain areas so he has plenty of space to work without worrying about being disturbed, so he sets to work hauling the Device out of his warp core and sets to figuring out how to separate a portion of it to create a core for himself.

It takes him days of building and experimenting before he's got an adequate containment system created so the damn thing doesn't burn him up. The process of installing the core is a little more complicated, and considering he's the only one around, it means performing the rather delicate procedure on himself. Slicing open his own chest sucks but he can manage, but once he gets to cracking open his sternum and wiring the core into his spinal column and his heart, he has to take frequent breaks to make sure the pain doesn't make him pass out. Finally, after hours and hours of work, he's able to install the main containment unit, all wired in, before he slips the chunk of the Device into the unit. His hands shake when he sutures up the opening in his chest around the metal container and bandages it up as best as he can. 

He manages to climb into his bed afterwards and sleeps for days. Turns out, his processors are overheating, which is the reason he stays under for so long. His circuitry can't cool down long enough to let him regain consciousness for several days, and his first diagnostics test shows him that. His next project is a cooling system for his head.

The pylon ends up being a good little multipurpose item. It houses cooling fans to keep his processors from giving up on him, and it also covers everything so he's not terrifying locals with his obscene appearance, and he ends up adding a visor onto it so his mismatched eyes aren't on display. It also means he can project information on the inside for easy research, which is handy. Painting it a garish orange is a personal choice - Doctor Sung quite frankly loves the boldness of it.

Finally, equipped to the brim, Sung feels comfortable making another jump and seeing where he ends up. It's a little easier this time. It honestly still sucks, it feels awful, but he stays conscious, doesn't vomit, let alone vomit blood. And he pops into a brand new universe upright and healthy with a big smile on his face.

Sung spends weeks, flitting from universe to universe, trying to follow whispers and traces of Doc Boredom, desperate to know why the tyrant chose his universe, his home planet to torment. He needs answers, answers that will help him defeat the Haters once and for all.

It's on one of these wild goose chases that finds Sung making a rather bumpy landing on an all but deserted planet in the far reaches of the stars. He swears he can see the edge of the universe, but that might just be a crack in his viewfinder. He's got some emergency repairs to make and nowhere to go, so he just sighs and settles in to work. It's on the afternoon of day 3 that he flips on his sensors, just to see if there are any life signatures on this barren wasteland besides the flora and himself. He's mostly just bored, and that's never good. Boredom took his mothers, left him cold and alone and scared as a child. He would not let himself succumb to boredom. Lo and behold, though, there's a little blip on the radar, something weak, about two kilometers from him, and interest surges in his chest. And so he takes off, nearly at a run, curious about this singular life form.

The scanners lead him into some itchy scrub brush, kinda swampy under the roots, and there, in the middle of the haggard looking plants and half submerged in muck is a sparking, jolting cyborg. It takes a little doing, but Sung manages to pull the poor thing from the marsh and haul it up on his shoulders in a bastardized fireman’s lift and carries it back to his ship. 

Cleaning the cyborg of all the mud and gunk takes a lot of time. Sung finds its insides are filled with the stuff, too, and the motor in its chest cavity is crushed to pieces, making it all but unoperational. That could explain why it was dumped, but it seems like it’ll be easy enough to fix with spare parts he has laying around, anyways, so why would someone have left this poor cyborg to rot all alone in a deserted marsh? And so he cleans.

It takes Sung days to get all of the gross stuff out of the cyborg’s nooks and crannies. Every single gear and doodad has to be meticulously cleared so all of its parts can run properly and it’s grueling. That doesn’t even count removing all of the broken parts and cataloging what needs replacing. But he does it, makes himself a careful, detailed list of all the things he needs to do to finish this project, and leaves the cyborg in the docking bay to dry out while he gathers his supplies.

After a nice long sleep, Doctor Sung comes back to the cyborg and start putting it back together. He’s still not quite sure what he’s going to replace the power core with, because it needs energy and a mechanism to run everything else, and the only thing he’s got laying around is a modified 808 drum machine, but he figures he’ll worry about that after he’s finished reassembling the bot. He takes his time, wanting to make sure everything single piece is perfect. It’s a much needed break from being on the move for him, considering he hasn’t stopped jumping and flying in months. He needs the time to sit and focus on something small. It’s cathartic.

In the end, Sung finds a way to fit the 808 into the cyborg’s chest cavity in such a way that it meshes with the rest of its’ innards. He’s pretty sure it’ll be able to give the bot adequate power to run without a hitch, but he’s not going to know until he switches it on...which is arguably the most stressful part. He closes up the chest plate and sighs before reaching in to flip the switch just under the chin of the cyborg’s face plate and-

One of the cyborg’s hands shoots up to grab Sung by the throat the moment its’ eyes flash on. It’s a tight grip, nearly enough to crush Sung’s windpipe in one go. His eyes widen and he grabs for the fleshy hand at his neck. It takes a long, hard effort, but he manages to pry the fingers from around his neck and duck in to flip the bot back off. The whole thing falls limp under him and he coughs, gasping for breath. Sung falls over next to the cyborg, panting and trying not to retch from the force of breathing through his most likely bruised trachea. This definitely means more research, he thinks, before gagging.

Once he has the robot hooked into his console to look into the things processors, Sung realizes he really doesn’t know anything about programming. Which is a little bit of an issue, seeing as it appears the cyborg is programmed to be nothing more than a killing machine. There’s even a blocker installed on the borg’s natural moods and personality to make sure he can do nothing but commit atrocities. It takes him days to figure out how to remove the blocker and uninstall the programming that makes the robot so violent.

When Sung finally gets ready to boot the cyborg for the second time, he takes some precautions and straps it to one of the exam tables in his med bay so he doesn’t have to worry about being killed this time. He double and triple checks his bonds before he takes a deep breath and reaches in to flip the switch.

This time, the eyes flicker to life and the cyborg makes a soft noise of curiosity and confusion, head tilting this way and that to take in its surroundings. He catches sight of Doctor Sung, and Sung can almost see the interest on its face, despite not having any facial muscles to express emotion with.

“Hello,” Sung greets with a big happy smile, his pylon settled carefully over his head to reduce any amount of shock for the cyborg. “My name’s Doctor Sung. I’m the one that made your repairs. Do you have a name?”

The cyborg tilts its head a little and drums its fingers against the padded table top. Perfect rhythm. “Identification Code H-2659, AKA Havve Hogan.” Its voice is very monotonous, but deep and what Sung would code as masculine on his home planet. “I was created on TL Omega 1, in quadrant PC-51, on the outskirts of the Genesis nebula. How did you find me?”

Sung smiles fondly and starts unstrapping the cyborg. “I’ve been bouncing around dimensions, seeking out answers to eradicate Boredom and his Haters, and stumbled upon an old, deserted planet. I had only planned to stay long enough to do some repairs on my ship, but I came across your very faint life signals and decided to investigate. You were a very long project for me.”

Havve nods idly. It’s hard to tell where he’s looking. “I was enslaved by Boredom’s Haters, reprogrammed as a weapon of their own. When I started to break through the code, they broke me and left me for dead.”

Sung nods, frowning slightly. “That...does explain why you were programmed the way you were. It took me days to just to uninstall the buffer that kept your personality under wraps. Also explains why you tried to crush my windpipe when I booted you the first time.”

Havve sits himself up, ducking his head as he rights himself. “I can still feel the programming influencing my thoughts. I swear my allegiance to you, however, for freeing me from the bonds of Boredom.”

Sung sighs and grabs the cyborg’s slowly warming hand, gives his fingers a squeeze. “I lost much to Boredom. My mothers, my research partner, many of my students and much of my home planet. Boredom has tried to take everything from me.”

“I will fight Boredom with you,” Havve nods, his fingers very carefully curling around Sung’s in a bastardized handshake. “Now, where do we go from here?”

\--

Sung and Havve are just popping through into a new dimension when they find themselves nearly being plowed into by a speed cruiser. Sung can’t help shout and jerk the ship out of the path of the cruiser when he notices the pod in pursuit, too. Havve makes a rumbly noise of curiosity and that solidifies Sung’s idea - he hits the tractor beam and pulls both small ships into his docking bay. He has to know what’s going on here. Sung hauls the ship to a halt in open space and sets the console to notify him of any abnormalties around them, and waves for Havve to follow him as he sprints off for the bay.

By the time they make it, though, there’s already screaming and the dull, wet thud of knuckles against broken flesh. There, in the center of the bay, between the two pods, are two aliens. One, a tall, reed thin, moderately glowy blue individual with hair the color of spun wheat tied up into the most delicate bun Sung’s ever seen in his entire life, has the other, a rather large bipedal lion person, by the front of his tunic and is absolutely walloping him. The blue one’s hands and face are covered in the blood splatter from the lion’s wounds, and Sung’s unclear if the wounds were there or not when the blue alien started assaulting the lion, but he also knows he’s not going to sit around and watch someone die on his ship. Sung tears in and grabs the little blue person and hauls him away from the other. It takes nearly all his strength to restrain him, he’s wiggling so hard, screaming at the top of his lungs the entire time Sung drags him away. 

“Havve!” He shouts over the alien’s wailing. “Get him to the med bay!” The last thing he sees before he exits the docking bay is the lion flopping over onto the floor and Havve rushing in to scoop him up.

Sung’s lucky quarantine isn’t too far, or he’d have never been able to hold onto the struggling alien long enough to get him into lockdown. The whippet thin alien is surprisingly strong, so much so that even Sung can’t keep up. The screaming doesn’t stop once the alien is behind the triple locked quarantine doors, and the alien spends hours beating on the observation window, until his fists are bloody and he screams himself hoarse and then keeps screaming, and Sung, terrified of anything happening to the poor thing, stays right there, outside quarantine, keeping an eye on the enraged alien. He’s worried, well… If something this drastic has happened, he has worries the alien may try to hurt themself. Lord knows Sung considered a lot of dramatic things in the wake of Sharu’s death. It’s hours before the screaming stops, and by then, Sung’s a little more than frazzled, the way his mind has wandered with the alien’s screaming. When he ducks to look in the observation window, the alien is curled up in a heap on the floor, crying quietly. Sung lets him have the privacy he needs, but doesn’t leave the door until he hears the sobs stop. Then he sets the observation monitors to notify him when the alien wakes up, before taking off towards the med bay to check in with Havve and the Altherope.

The lion is conscious, slumped over on of the exam tables, while Havve hovers nearby. Sung’s spent enough time with the cyborg by now that he knows he’s nervous, has exhausted his own abilities and doesn’t know how to move forward - meaning the Altherope is probably physically sound, and needs some emotional connection, which is something Havve just isn’t that great at yet. Sung gives him a smile and pats his shoulder reassuringly before he moves in to kneel down next to the lion. 

“Hey there,” he says softly, putting a hand over one of the alien’s big paws. “My name is Doctor Sung, this is my ship. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

The lion groans and blinks a couple times to focus before he smacks his lips. His tail whaps nervously against the padding of the table. “Mm name ‘s Commander Mee-owch,” he rumbles, obviously not used to speaking in Common Tongue. He frowns a little at the sound of his own voice but tries his best to keep his eyes trained on Sung while he talks. “Mm a smuggler. Ah run Funk.” He looks almost ashamed to admit this. Almost. “We had a big drop out on Pleates, one of the biggest yet. There was a few tonnes of the stuff in mai loadin’ bay. But arr ship had a problem, we had to put ‘er down.”

The implications of Meouch’s story start to hit Sung. Pleates is a small planet, very philosophical in nature. They have no defenses against an outbreak of Funk, especially not one of that size. His heart plummets. Pleates was a beautiful planet with amazing people, Sung had had the pleasure of visiting when he was a child...back in his own dimension, anyways.

“That explains the Pleatian attempting to kill you with their bare hands in my docking bay,” Sung says, a stilted joke that he can tell isn’t going to hit while he’s still saying it. Meouch’s face crumples a little.

“Mai crew did’n make it aff the planet. Ahn the young one was the only one to come ahfter me.” Meouch is tearing up, looking at Sung with big, regretful eyes. “Ah did’n mean it.”

“I can tell you didn’t,” Sung sighs, shaking his head. There’s blood matting in the Altherope’s fur and Sung briefly worries they’ll have to cut the mats out. “You use Funk, don’t you?” He can see the way Meouch’s paws are shaking, even as focused as he is on speaking clearly to Sung. Meouch flushes, dark under his fur.

“Ai do,” he admits, turning his gaze away from Sung. “Nothin’, uh. Big, ai think is the word ya’d use. Lil doses. Is what keeps me goin’ since ai lawst mai planet to Boredom.”

Sung nods idly, sighs through his nose. “Well. If you’ll accept my help, I can take you on board, let you stick with us. We’re trying to find the best way to defeat Boredom. You’ll have to get the Funk use under control, though. That’s too volatile a drug to be around Havve and my circuitry.”

Meouch nods slightly and smiles crookedly up at Sung. “Thank yew, Doctor. Can I sleep now?” His big body is slumping in on itself, exhausted by the events of the day, and Sung can’t say no to a sleepy kitty.

“Go ahead. Rest, recover. We have a long road ahead of us.”

Sung leaves Havve to watch over Meouch while he rests - the poor thing flops over on the exam table and is out and snoring in a heart beat. Upstairs, in the quarantine lock up, the Pleatian has fallen deadly silent. Sung frowns, checks his sensors on the inside of his visor for any abnormal life signs from the alien, just in case, but...it seems like he’s just resting. Sung rushes up to the observation window anyway and reaches up on tiptoes to see...yep, the pretty little alien is sleeping, breathing normally, just laid out on his back and sleeping soundly. Sung sighs heavily and makes himself up a little nest right by lock up and settles in for the night - he wants to be there when the Pleatian wakes up.

Doctor Sung’s sensors startle him awake when the Pleatian starts to rouse. He’s got a big smile on his face when he sees those huge, blank eyes flutter open. It’s nearly impossible for Sung to tell just where the alien is looking at any given time, which is absolutely fascinating for him. He had almost forgotten that little tidbit about the Pleatians. This one, though, is dressed in ornate robes, all blood red and gold, and now, Sung notices the red thread wound around thin braids in the alien’s hair. He looks absolutely regal. Sung hadn’t had the chance to meet any of Pleates’ royalty when he was a child, but he can only imagine this young Pleatian is, indeed, a member of the royal family. 

Sung taps on the observation window and slides the narrow pane of glass open. “Hello! You must be terribly confused, and I’m very sorry about that. My name is Doctor Sung, I picked you and the Altherope up after the pair of you nearly plowed into my ship. Can you tell me your name? I’d like to get an understanding of what’s happening here.”

The Pleatian just stares blankly up at Sung, doesn’t blink, doesn’t move a muscle, just stares. Sung wonders, briefly, if this poor, elegant little being doesn’t understand Common Tongue, and so switches his translator over to Pleatian and asks his question again. This time, the alien’s face crumples and his eyes fall closed and he curls in on himself. He shakes his head up at Sung and makes a motion, like he’s writing on something. Sung wembles a little, but sighs. 

“Can I trust you if I let you out?” Sung asks the Pleatian, looking stern and serious, trying to convey his sincerity in the question. The Pleatian nods vigorously and hauls himself to his feet. Sung’s reminded just how dainty the poor thing is, watching him approach the quarantine door. Sung pops open the locks and lets the doors slide open and the thin alien steps out from between them. He’s taller than Sung, the little cyborg is realizing, now that he’s not fighting to control him. He sighs and shrugs. “This way.”

Sung leads the Pleatian to a little office space, and closes the pair of them inside before he starts rummaging for the pen for the desktop tablet so the Pleatian can start writing to him. It takes him a hot minute - it was buried deep in a drawer of unrelated items, of course - but he hands it over to the blue alien and pulls up the notepad and gestures for the Pleatian to start writing. The Pleatian’s thin, blue, blood-stained fingers curl around the instrument and he begins to write, his script a little wobbly, but clear enough for Sung’s translator to read.

‘My name is Lord Phobos Lorentia. I am the second son of the king of Pleates. I do not know what exactly happened, but a cloud of Funk encapsulated the citadel of my planet and I watched my people erupt into chaos. The Altherope was the only other to make their escape from the planet. I know he is responsible. The citadel has fallen. If the Funk made it into the water, the rest of the planet is a loss. My people are dead. And it is the Altherope’s fault. I swear, I will not speak until my planet is avenged.’

Sung frowns. This...isn’t exactly the way he’d hoped it would turn out. He sighs and shakes his head, and puts a heavy hand on Phobos’ shoulder.

“I can’t promise you the vengeance of your people,” he starts, looking Phobos in the eye. “And I cannot allow you to stay on my ship if you have plans to try and harm the Altherope. He’s officially under my protection, in the fight against Boredom. But if you wish to join us, I will keep you safe and help you find a way to honor your home.”

Phobos sits still for a moment, hair falling messy around his face as he stares blankly down at his hands. After a beat of thought, though, he nods and turns his gaze back up to Sung briefly. He tightens his grip on the pen and starts writing.

‘I will take you up on the offer. I cannot promise you my forgiveness of the Altherope, but I will commit to a truce with him. I, too, wish to see the end of Boredom in my days.’

\--

Sung gives Phobos his own private quarters, lets the little Pleatian get himself settled, transferring his few scant belongings from his pod to the room. It doesn’t take long, and the first thing he does before Sung leaves him is take out his guitar and settle in front of the window. Sung can hear the mournful song he plays to open space as he leaves.

Meouch stays in the medbay under Havve’s watchful eye for the next few days. He’d agreed to give up Funk all together to stay on Sung’s ship, and that mean detoxing from his constant use, which could be dangerous. Sung had seen an old friend try to give up Funk once and had seen the way quitting cold turkey had torn him apart from the inside out without proper medical attention. Havve had a very extensive medical database, and therefore made a very good doctor. Sung came in and helped soothe Meouch when he could, but there was only so much he could do. And besides, watching the big Altherope roll around on the exam table and sweat and groan made Sung’s heart hurt.

When Meouch can finally stand on his own without looking like he might faint at any second, Sung lets him get settled in a room of his own, too. He has even fewer belongings that Phobos, though, just a bass guitar and a change of clothes and a cord with a charm at the end of it that he ties around his neck when he thinks Sung isn’t looking. Sung finds him rubbing the pad of his thumb over it often when he’s deep in thought, and as much as he wonders what the little symbol means, he doesn’t press too hard. He knows Meouch has had it rough, but he doesn’t like to let that define him.

During an afternoon of flying, Sung catches Havve fiddling around with Sung’s drums. He's solid and unfailing in his playing, and it gives Sung an idea. He's not sure it will work until he gets Meouch and Phobos to sit down together and work things out, but it's an idea nonetheless. And so the gears turn.

It takes almost a month for Sung to get Phobos to even acknowledge his presence when he comes to check on the Pleatian. Mostly, the poor thing hides in his quarters and strums his guitar and weeps for his planet. But there does come a day when Sung’s pestering gets through and Phobos turns to look at him when he asks if the alien would come join the rest of them for dinner. Phobos pauses for a moment before nodding and setting his guitar aside and following Sung to the galley.

Havve is cooking - Havve always cooks, though, so this is less than surprising - and Meouch is sprawled out on the kitchen table with a bottle of whiskey in hand, complaining he's hungry - again, unsurprising, as Sung's found the Altherope tends to act this way after a few drinks. Phobos looks uncomfortable, though, so Sung gives him a reassuring pat on the back and moves into the kitchen. 

“What’s for eats, my bot?” Sung greets, grabbing Havve by the shoulders with a smile. 

“Stew,” he replies, soft and monotonous. “We had a lot of leftover vegetables.”

Sung gets himself working on setting their meager little table so Havve can serve dinner when it’s ready, and pours Meouch a nice, big glass of water, swapping it for the whiskey so the big cat isn’t a grumpy asshole later on. Meouch grumbles now about losing his drink, but Sung knows he’ll thank him in the morning. Phobos sits tentatively at the end of the table, about as far away from the others as is possible, and looks as tense as one can get in a space they’re supposed to call home. Sung just gives him his space, and Meouch’s ears fold back into his mane and he doesn’t say anything. Sung knows it’s because he’s fearful of the lithe alien, and he doesn’t want to risk setting him off.

“Meouch, Phobos, I know things are tense between you two right now, but I’d like to be able to help you two work through this,” Sung starts while Havve serves up dinner. “I think… I think Meouch, should start, because I know he has a lot to say.”

Meouch’s ears find a way to flatten further, his tail jerks to and fro behind him, to match the frown on his face. “Uh, I’m not sure what to say… Lord Phobos, I want to extend my most sincere apology to you,” He starts, his hands shaking. His Common Tongue is still a little accented, rough around the edges, but he’s made huge strides having to be used to speaking it on the ship. “I know apologies don’t mean shit in the scope of what me and my crew did, but I want you to know that was the last thing I ever wanted to happen. I understand that you’re angry. I’m angry, too. The accident took my entire crew, my family, the only people I had, so I can relate to how you feel. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I took everything from you, and I don’t deserve such a kindness. I just want to be able to work alongside you, to help take down Boredom.”

Phobos’ eyes widen a little and he glances around, trying desperately to figure out how he’s going to convey a response here. And as if sense the impending panic, Doctor Sung offers him a pad, something light and fragile looking, and a stylus to go along with it. Phobos gives him a thankful looks and sets it in front of him. He painstakingly starts writing out his response in Common Tongue - but even after years of studying the language, his hands had trouble making the letters look legible. Every single one is sloppy and crooked and certain words are completely unreadable. Sung sighs. 

“Hey, bud,” he says softly, setting a hand on Phobos’ shoulder. “Write in your native tongue. I’ll translate for him.” Phobos nods up at him and jots down a quick ‘thank you’ to Sung before he delves into his response to Meouch, his scrawlings much quicker and much more legible this time.

‘I appreciate you even extending the apology in the first place,’ he writes. It’s a little unsettling to hear Sung’s scanner translating it aloud in Common tongue just to his left, but if it makes communicating with Meouch easier, he’ll put up with it. ‘As my father once told me as a child, forgiveness is not something you have to earn. It is something freely given by the merciful. You are sincere in your regret, and that alone is enough to appease me. I forgive you, but please, do not take it to heart if I am not so forthcoming in the future. I am still grieving, as I’m sure you are. But we can at least be at an understanding.’

Meouch slumps a little, mostly in relief. “Thank you. I appreciate you.”

Phobos nods at him and reaches across the table to set one of his narrow, delicate hands on Meouch’s paw, looking him in the eye for a moment before turning back to the tablet set before him. ‘There is no need to thank me. I was raised to have mercy and love in my heart.’

Everyone regroups after the emotional moment between the two aliens, eats their dinners in near silence together, before Phobos insists on clearing the table, putting all the dishes in the washer and stowing away the leftovers. Havve grumbles a little bit - that’s his job, he likes doing things in the kitchen, but he realizes, as well, that Phobos is attempting to be polite, and so he lets the Pleatian continue on.

\--  
Doctor Sung decides to give Meouch and Phobos a little more time to heal and learn to exist in the same space before he drops the idea of starting a band on the little group that are quickly becoming friends. The day he decides it’s finally time comes about a month after the reconciliation between the two. He finds Meouch in Phobos’ quarters, Meouch talking quietly to Phobos and Phobos strumming his guitar in response. Sung just watches for a while, listens to the two communicate in a way he doesn’t quite understand. There are words in the notes, sentences in the riffs, and it’s a language Meouch seems to comprehend because he’s responding, having a full conversation with Phobos. They’re connected, Sung sees, in a way he could never recreate. Now was the time.

That very evening, he brings up the idea of all of them jamming together. Meouch is the only one that matches Sung’s excitement for the idea, but he can see the tiniest of smiles curling on Phobos’ lips and the jerk of Havve’s head that means the two of them are on board. 

It’s a couple more days before they all gather. The first few minutes are tense and awkward, no one quite sure where they’re supposed to start. But Sung glances at Havve, worried, and the bot kicks into instinct, giving them a backbeat to work on, and Meouch absolutely lights up, joins him. With Meouch there, it’s easy for Phobos to follow. Sung has a moment of panic where he realizes he isn’t quite sure where he fits, standing behind his keyboard, but Havve tilts his head, sends him a little questioning look, and Sung jumps in, lets the nerves work in his favor to push him forward. 

And they play for hours. It’s easy, Sung finds, once he starts, especially with this group, and his heart swells with joy and his core thrums a little harder in his chest, and when they decide to wrap up for the night, he finds he can’t wait for their next jam session.

When they start writing songs together, Sung knows he has to find a place for them to land their ship and make a home, a place where they can spread their music far and wide to ward off Boredom. Sung tells the others what he’s thinking, and Phobos (who had never left Pleates until his entire civilization collapsed), Meouch, (who was wanted on six different planets in the Targus Targus nebula alone) and Havve (who couldn’t remember the planets he’d seen) agree wholeheartedly but...they leave picking a new home planet up to Sung.

\--

Doctor Sung takes a lot of time to do a lot of research and communications before he decides to land them on Earth, near the city of Toronto. Earth ends up being the perfect home for them. The Canadian government is, well, surprisingly welcoming to a band of aliens who wish to settle there, but none of them are really gonna question it. Just the way none of them really question just where Sung acquires the funds to purchase them a sizeable home on the edges of a metropolitan area with a yard big enough for them to park Vangelis on. 

Settling takes them a long time. It’s been decades since Havve and Meouch have had a stationary home, neither of them had spent more than a few weeks on any planet since they were young. Sung and Phobos had both lost their homes, rather recently in their lives, and the mistrust of a stable home left the two of them nervous and distant for several weeks.

None of them have any more belongings than what could fit on the ship, which they quickly realize isn’t enough to fill an Earth home. They have to figure out how Earth money works in short order so they can furnish the house and make it their home. Sung paints the communal areas bright, sunny colors, and the bedrooms darker, more muted tones. Phobos takes up space in the little finished attic, because he finds the small, cozy space reminds him of his quarters in the royal apartments. Havve takes the smallest room, because he doesn’t really sleep, he mostly just recharges every few days, and it seems selfish to him to take up that much extra space.

Meouch and Phobos start finding common ground. Things are a little stiff still, because communication is slow without Phobos speaking, but the music brings them together, helps them talk in a way. It’s a language the others don’t really understand, not the way the two of them do, but they start to spend more and more time together, and Sung notices Phobos looking much more relaxed around the Altherope, smiling more, giving more, physically and emotionally. He’s opening up, and Sung is thankful that he is at all, and even more thankful that he’s opening up to Meouch, when things could have fallen to pieces between the two so easily. Shortly after they take up residence, a local tells Phobos about sign language, and all four of the Groove Crusaders dive headfirst into learning it, so Phobos can communicate more effectively with his little family.

Sung’s just starting to figure out how to get them shows, so more and more people can hear their music, in an attempt to make this beautiful planet a little less susceptible to Boredom’s grasp. They’d started by just setting up on street corners and playing, trying to get people’s attention. But now that they’re booking actual shows, people are buying tickets and purchasing their music and Sung has to figure a lot of the booking and financial stuff out on the fly as they go. But they’re all happy, spreading love and joy and fun through their music to the people that had accepted them onto their planet and given them a home.

But just when the Groove Crusaders think everything is going well, the sky above Toronto opens up and fills with the black, angry vessels of Boredom. Vangelis’ console alerts Sung to the change, and the moment he steps outside and sees the air, he freezes. He can’t lose another home, he just can’t. But he’s not sure he’s powerful enough to stop an entire envoy of Haters, either. His blood is running cold and his heart is beating double time in his chest and his Core is screaming with the influx of stimuli when Havve steps up beside him, a deep rumbling in his chest cavity.

“We won’t let them take our home again,” Havve says, low and metallic and pissed the hell off. He grabs Sung’s hand and gives it a delicate squeeze. “Get Vangelis running. I will get the others.”

Sung, briefly powered by Havve’s support, sprints for the ship and throws her engines into gear. The poor girl doesn’t have much in the way of a weapons system but… He realizes Meouch and Phobos’ pods are both still in his docking bay, both outfitted with a full array of phasers, and that eases his heart a little. Plus, there is the giant PA system he’d installed as a much younger fellow - he could always blare their music as loud as possible, hope the fun tunes would help drive off the Haters in the process.

Phobos and Meouch shoot out of the house at full speed, Havve hot on their tails, and all three load onto the ship and get her up in the air in no time. In the bridge, Sung sighs. “Meouch. I know you’re an accomplished pilot with a lot of experience, and I have the utmost faith in you. Go get your pod running, I’m sending you out. Havve, I want you to go to the bay with him and take the Pleatian pod. You two are going to be our main line of defense, because Vangelis’ weapons aren’t exactly top notch. I’m going to pilot the big girl, I’ve got the PA running and I’m going to give them an earful of our stuff, see if we can’t make them flee the good times we got on our side. We want as few of them as possible to reach the ground, alright?”

Meouch and Havve nod and take off towards the docking bay, and as soon as they give the ready, Sung sets them loose and flicks on the music and sets to warming up the photon missiles.

Phobos, meanwhile, slips off to gear up, getting his jetpack and his helmet settled and loading himself up with blasters. In the airlock, he sends out a brief prayer to his patron, hoping she can hear him all the way out here, and takes a deep breath before he hits the button to open the bay and jumps. It's been a hot minute, but he falls back into things easy enough, darting this way and that, opening fire on exposed pilots. The fire in his belly, that Boredom would try and takes this world from them, too, is enough to push him on.

They manage to clear through most of the sky, leaving them with about half a dozen vessels that reach the ground, filing out along the waterfront. The Groove Crusaders follow them, hot on their tails, the last line of defense between the Haters and the people of Toronto. Sung puts Vangelis down easy, on the pavement, where as Meouch and Havve throw caution to the wind and bump down as close to the Haters as possible. Phobos drops next to them, phasers already up and firing when Haters coming pouring out of the ships. Meouch flies out of his ship, absolutely roaring as he sprints headlong into the first wave of Haters, scimitars in hand and his phaser strapped to his thigh. For now, he’s up close and personal enough that he doesn’t need it, but it may come in handy later. Havve’s out after him in quick order, dual wielding blasters much the same way Phobos is, rage burning in his chest, making the gears grind in his head. Phaser blasts fill the air, hot and suffocating, and Sung is so intimately reminded of the Haters invading his home, of the swarms of Haters surrounding him then and now, and screams as he roundhouse kicks a Hater in the face.

Somewhere in the midst of the battle, though, when everything was looking like the Groove Crusaders may have the fight firmly sealed up, Lord Phobos catches a phaser blast to the throat, damn near the only exposed soft spot on his body, and goes down like a sack of potatoes. 

“Pho!” Meouch screams, sprinting his direction to beat off the Haters closing in on his best friend’s prone form. He’s able to take enough of them out completely and disable the rest so he can scoop up the bleeding, choking Pleatian and whisk him away to Vangelis. Havve and Sung are able to hold down the fort and take out the last of the Haters, just in time for the military to start rolling in. Sung sends Havve off after Meouch and Phobos, to help heal their friend, while he plays interference with the Canadian Armed Forces.

By the time Sung’s able to rejoin his family, stepping up alongside Meouch in the medbay, Havve is bandaging up the sutures on Phobos’ throat. Havve finishes up his work and leaves Phobos to rest, still under anesthesia, moves to talk to Sung and Meouch, deep blue blood stains on his hands.

“I was able to reconstruct his trachea and cauterize his arteries to stop the bleeding, but I wasn’t able to save his vocal cords and larynx, they were almost completely destroyed,” Havve murmurs, shaking his head. If he could frown, he’d be frowning right now. “I don’t know if he ever wanted to be able to communicate verbally again, but now... He won't be able to now.”

Meouch’s ears fold back into his mane and Sung sags a little under the news. “Oh no,” Sung breathes.

“He told me, maybe when he felt like he’d finished grieving, he wanted to try being verbal again,” Meouch murmurs, closing his eyes and covering his face with his paws. “This is going to destroy him.”

It’s a couple hours before Phobos comes to, his hand automatically going to his throat and the itchy gauze on his skin.

“Hey hey hey,” Sung stops him, standing from his seat at Phobos’ side. “You need to leave that alone, okay? Let yourself heal.”

What happened? Phobos questions, his eyebrows furrowed, looking disoriented. I remember being on the waterfront, fighting, and then...nothing.

“You were hit with a phaser,” Sung lets him know, holding onto one of Phobos’ hands in support. “The one real squishy bit you had exposed, your throat. It was real touch and go for a little bit, while Havve did what he could.”

How bad is it? Phobos asks. His hands shake as he signs, obviously nervous to hear about his own condition at the moment. Sung sighs and squeezes his fingers.

“Havve had to reconstruct your trachea, and a couple arteries had to be cauterized to make sure you didn’t bleed out. Your larynx was completely destroyed, though, and the damage to your vocal cords was more than Havve could fix. I’m sorry.” Sung frowns, shaking his head. 

Phobos’ eyes go a little distant and he stares up at the ceiling. He doesn’t make an effort to respond to Sung in any way, and when Sung gets insistent, Phobos even goes so far as to roll away from him, curling in on himself and actively ignoring Sung’s persistent attempts at comfort. He wants nothing more than to go home and hole up in his room, take comfort in the only way he knows how.

\--

Phobos doesn’t emerge from his room and doesn’t let anyone in for days. Sung wanders by and knocks on the door and offers Phobos as much encouragement as he can at least a couple times a day. Havve makes the Pleatian meals and leaves them outside Phobos’ room. When he comes by a few hours later, the plates are always empty. That’s enough for him.

Meouch gives Phobos a week to himself. He waits until Sung’s out of the house and Havve’s charging before he wanders upstairs and knocks gently on Phobos’ door. “Hey, Pho? It’s me. We need to talk.” Meouch waits and listens, patiently anticipation no response whatsoever. He gives Phobos five minutes, and just when he’s thinking Phobos is completely ignoring him and he’s about to turn and leave, the door creaks open, exposing Phobos. The poor guy looks rough, his skin pale and ashen, except for around his eyes and the bandaging on his throat, where his skin is dark and angry-looking. His mouth is twisted into a deep frown and his eyes are dull and his hair is falling out of the sloppiest bun Meouch’s ever seen.

What do you want? He signs, halfheartedly. He’s curled in on himself, like he’s scared of having Meouch in his space.

“Can I come in and talk to you?” Meouch asks softly, frowning a little himself. He’s worried about his friend. Phobos nods, almost reluctantly, and steps back so Meouch can slink into the dark room. It takes him half a second to adjust to the lack of light in the room so he can step around the clutter on the floor and flop onto Phobos’ bed. “Phobos, I’m worried about you,” he starts, folding his hands in his lap as Phobos settles uneasily at the opposite end of the mattress. “We… We want to help you process what happened last week, so we know you’ll be okay, but you’re actively shutting us out and we’re scared we’re going to lose you altogether. Why… Why won’t you let us in?”

Phobos pauses for a moment, his fingers twitching like he wants to say something, but he’s not quite sure how to phrase it. His shoulders heave with a deep breath.

It’s common practice for my people to complete their grieving in private. Emotions like that are not fit to be shared, even among friends and family. And I am grieving the loss of my voice.

Meouch sighs and nods. “I understand. But we just want you to know that we’re here to help you along the way. You don’t have to hide.” Meouch opens his arms to his friend and his stomach fills with relief when Phobos slips forward and hugs him tight. “We want to take care of you.” Phobos nods against his shoulder and squeezes him harder before slipping back and giving them enough space to use his hands.

I am sorry for giving you all such a hard time. You’re my family and I am accustomed to not letting my hurt spill over onto my loved ones. I will try better to relay my feelings to you.

Meouch nods at him and gives him a gentle slap on the bicep. “Thank you. That’s all we’re asking. I’m gonna go make a snack and hang out in the backyard, if you wanna join me?”

\--

Phobos takes to carrying a journal with him at all times in the coming weeks. It takes him a little time to get used to, but in just a few days, the thing is packed full, with everything from daily notes on his moods and his feelings, to lengthy conversations with Sung about feeling out of control in his own body, to bars of songs and scribbled down lyrics to go along with them. It becomes an extension of him, and the rest of the Groove Crusaders become so accustomed to seeing him with it that the scant few times he leaves it somewhere, they pick up on it immediately. Those are quiet days, days when Phobos needs some time in his head to ruminate and think and internalize. Meouch is antsy the first few times it happens, desperate to know what’s happening with his friend. But Phobos always comes to him later on, gives him the run down and keeps him assured that everything is fine.

And so the band grows and grows and grows. Tupperware Remix Party quickly becomes a staple in the lives of the people of Toronto, keeping the Haters banished from their beloved home. The only home they’ve ever known.


End file.
